The work is heavy. I see bare branches laden with snow. I try to comfort myself with thought of your old age. A girl passes, in a red tam, the coat around her quick ankles snow smeared from running and falling- Of what shall I think now save of death the bright dancer? — William… Continue reading William Carlos Williams
Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth–nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking thefield by force; the grass does not raise above it. Here is no question of whiteness, white as can be, with a purple mole at the center of each flower.… Continue reading William Carlos Williams
A Goodnight GO to sleep—though of course you will not— to tideless waves thundering slantwise against strong embankments, rattle and swish of spray dashed thirty feet high, caught by the lake wind, scattered and strewn broadcast in over the steady car rails! Sleep, sleep! Gulls’ cries in a… Continue reading William Carlos Williams
It is the sting of snow, the burning liquor of the moonlight, the rush of rain in the gutters packed with dead leaves: go to sleep, go to sleep. And the night passes—and never passes— — William Carlos Williams, from “A Goodnight,” Sour Grapes. (1921)
SO different, this man And this woman: A stream flowing In a field. — William Carlos Williams, from “Marriage,” The Collected Poems, Vol. 1: 1909-1939. (New Directions; Reprint edition September 17, 1991)
we sit and talk I wish to be with you abed, we two as if the bed were the bed of a stream —I have much to say to you We sit and talk, quietly, with long lapses of silence and I am aware of the stream that has no language, coursing beneath the quiet… Continue reading William Carlos Williams
An old willow with hollow branches slowly swayed his few high gright tendrils and sang: Love is a young green willow shimmering at the bare wood’s edge. —William Carlos Williams, “Epitaph,” The Collected Poems, Vol. 1: 1909-1939. (New Directions; Reprint edition September 17, 1991) Originally published 1951.